


The Dark Spark

by Reia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blood, Blood Play, Carcasses, Depictions of hunting and killing, Eating Raw Meat, F/M, Gen, Generalizations of ADD, M/M, Mild Gore, Slightly Dark!Pack, Teen Wolf Reverse Bang, magic!Lydia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 13:59:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reia/pseuds/Reia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows that Stiles is speaking to his wolf, to that animal inside that thrums with the need to maim and kill and take, take, <i>take</i> and he really shouldn't allow it, he shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dark Spark

**Author's Note:**

> My amazing and wonderful artist for this piece is [slinkymilinky](http://slinkymilinky.livejournal.com). I was so lucky to work with her and her beautiful art. Make sure to check it out here: [Link to Art](http://slinkymilinky.livejournal.com/53075.html).
> 
> There is so much I wanted to add to this story, I have an entire 20 page document of notes and backstory and canon that I wasn't able to work in. But I am very happy with how this worked out, especially since most of it was written via e-mails with my lovely artist.
> 
> This is slightly dark, mostly due to how the pack acts, and there isn't too much gorey depiction, but be warned, it is there. Also, I make a mention of how someone with ADD thinks, please don't be offended. I have ADD and this is just a base generalization.
> 
> I'd love any and all feed back, enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

The night air is crisp, a frigid bite to it that curls in at the edges and hints of the winter to come. Bright moonlight floods the clearing in front of the burnt out Hale house, lighting up even the darkest corners. Everyone is gathered around, dressed in blood and grass stained jeans and long sleeved Henleys; their sneakers are scuffed, laces falling apart and barely holding together, faces already smeared with dirt from their earlier romp in the dirt.

No watch is needed as the tug of the moon grows stronger and stronger and when it reaches its high point, a loud howl pierces the otherwise still night as they shed clothes and take off for the woods, skin shifting and pulling, pushing back their humanness. It's a playful run filled with shoving and teasing as they make their way deeper into the preserve around Beacon Hills. They splash over creeks, roll across piles of decaying leaves, jump over fallen trees, and make as much noise as they want, yipping and growling as they chase each other.

Their second is the one that brings them to a stumbling stop, head tilted and eyes glowing a bright blue as he looks for what caught his attention. The others push in behind him, their excitement growing as the smell of _prey_ starts seeping into their awareness. It's the presence of their alpha that keeps them at bay, his silent command, _stay_ the only thing that holds them back from tearing through the dark and into warm flesh.

When their prey reaches them, it doesn't notice they're there at all. It's a small doe, soft honey color washed out in the whiteness of the full moon, and it carefully steps over branches and picks at whatever green it can find on the dying forest floor.

A soft whine escapes from the group and the doe freezes, head shooting up and ears pricking as it finally registers that it's not alone. The moment stretches for a seemingly infinite moment before snapping, the doe a frenzied blur of movement and fear as the pack rushes after it.

It doesn't take long to bring it down, one single doe nowhere near a match for eight young werewolves. They kill it quickly, the alpha's claws slicing easily across the doe's neck and making sure it doesn't suffer. Blood thirsty they may be, they don't feel it necessary to make their kill linger too long in pain.

The itch to dig in and tear is almost perceptible, but they hold back, crouching with impatient snuffles and huffs of hot breath that steam up the air around them. Their alpha stands tall over his pack and lets out a long, triumphant howl that echoes across the mountains. Instinct has them cowering further back as his red eyes stare into theirs, even their second tilts his head to the side and bares his neck, each wolf submitting until only one is left, his neck raised proud as he stares into the alpha's glowing eyes.

Low growling rumbles across their skin as the alpha settles and allows his mate to approach. There's no hesitation as the smaller were approaches the alpha, eyes glowing a deep golden orange. A soft touch and they lean in together, noses brushing in an Eskimo kiss. The alpha lets out a happy chuff and licks at his mate's jaw, possession and love written out in that one act, before he crowds in and bites at the juncture of his mate's neck and shoulder. A hungry whine is the response and he lets go only after licking and biting at the other side.

The impatience of their pack separates them and the alpha nudges his mate toward their kill. The body is steaming from the open wounds, the sharp tangy scent of blood has the pack licking and smacking their lips, eagerness and hunger wafting off them in heady waves.

With a shake of his head, the alpha's mate growls low and crouches over the chest of the fallen doe. His claws dig easily into the soft flesh and he pulls and tears until a gaping hole is all that is left. As soon as he steps away with his prize, the pack moves in; grunts and huffs of breath mingling with the steam and stench of their prey. Their second tears away more than his share and then curls around his mate, sharing his spoils with her as she laughs with not quite human eyes and flaming hair that glows brilliantly under the light of the moon. The others quickly take their share and settle down to eat, sharing with their mates and each other.

The alpha pulls his mate away from the rest and they press into each other, bodies shifting back, blood squelches between their hands as they share the heart with biting kisses and licks, knowing that their pack will save some of the meat for whenever they feel like rejoining.

Laughter echoes and bounces off the trees, scattering whatever wildlife may be around at this time of night. The alpha takes the last bite and pushes his mate down with a happy rumble, swallowing the still warm muscle before pressing his face against his mate's neck. True happiness is a feeling he hasn't felt in a long time and the contentment he feels from the bonds he shares with all the members of his pack has him relaxing as his mate wraps arms and legs around him.

A scuffle breaks out between two of the betas and their second tears away from his mate to settle them down, quickly ending the disagreement with a sharp bite and a bark that has the other two cowering back in apology. The pack rearranges itself and they pile one on top of the other as they fall into a post-hunt doze. Blood is licked off heated skin and hair is groomed as they lazily clean each other up. The alpha and his mate join in, bodies changing once again before feasting on what is left, pressing into their pack as the others move around them and pull them in.

The moon loosens its hold on them as they nap, bodies slowly and gently shifting back as night is burned away by the white light of dawn. No one moves until their alpha rises, bones cracking as he stretches and lets the cool air wrap around him. Slowly they get up, groaning and jostling each other as they untangle limps and lose the warm pockets of air that had kept them sedated through the night. Their second orchestrates the burial of the remains, each touching the head of the doe in silent thanks and respect before it is finally covered in dirt and grass.

Walking back is a slow and unhurried trudge through their forest. Arms wrapped around each other and hands linked together. When they reach the clearing, they're greeted by the sheriff and his ever present look of resigned fondness. A pile of blankets and clean clothes sit on the porch with boxes of warm donuts and large steaming thermoses fill the air with the bitter smell of coffee.

Jugs of water and old towels are brought out as they wipe dried mud and blood off their skin, quickly pulling on their spare clothes and tossing the dirtied ones from the night before into a large plastic garbage can. The donuts and coffee are devoured and once sated, they huddle together, pulling the sheriff in to join them, and watch as the sun finishes its climb across the morning sky. Plans are made and worked over as they pick up and pack things away, jostling and bumping into each other as they reluctantly get into their cars and head their separate ways.

The sheriff waves as he drives off and soon only the alpha and his mate are left. They are always the last to leave, waiting for that last lingering bit of wildness to calm down and settle into rest inside of Derek. Stiles always pushes him down into the dirt and crawls into his lap, whining as the rush of sensation closes down and a muted view of the world is all that is left. Sometimes they sit for hours, others for just a few minutes, until they both feel their equilibriums reestablish and they can venture back out into the world.

When they leave, they drive away in Stiles' jeep, damp earth spitting out behind the tires and leaves flying up before slowly settling back down. The old Hale house is being taken over by nature and with every full moon another piece of it blends into the wild forest surrounding it.

 

*

 

He's staring up at the ruins of his family's home, silently debating with himself on whether to tear it down, rebuild, or just leave it as it is. The guilt he feels whenever he looks at the burnt down shell of the house is as strong as ever, gnawing at his heart and making it somewhat hard to breathe at times. A part of him wants to rebuild so that an exact replica sits where his family now rests, but he knows that regardless of how much he may wish it, they'll never come back and torturing himself and his crazy uncle with echoing reminders of the past isn't going to help in the long run.

Peter is waxing poetical about something or another beside him, possibly outlining his next psychotic idea word for word and Derek is doing his damndest to ignore him, when a small, sharp tug _tears_ at something inside him and he gasps, falling to his knees.

For the past few weeks he's been slowly re-learning his role as alpha and one of the first things he noticed was the connection growing between him and the pack. There are soft tendrils that tether him to everyone, each one a bright gleaming color indicative of that pack member's mood and overall health, their personality and status within the pack hierarchy. It's as he's trying to catch his breath, Peter's hands pressing hard against his back, voice calling out in an amused and only slightly bewildered tone, that he realizes one of the colors fading. He closes his eyes, sucks air in through his mouth and concentrates on his bonds, carefully pushing the healthy ones to the side and –

Derek's heart seems to lurch in his chest when he registers the golden orange color and before he can fully understand what he's doing he's scrambling up to his feet, limbs suddenly and furiously uncooperative before he regains control, and running full tilt, clothes shredding as he shifts into his alpha form, nose leading him as he moves through the forest. He's almost there, wherever _there_ is, when he feels the others around him. Peter has finally caught up, a sense of worry and urgency thrumming underneath the ever present calm he always wears, Scott is growling softly at his other side, muzzle curling up as he snarls his anger out to the world. Just a bit behind them are Isaac and Jackson, both not entirely sure why they're there but following all the same, eyes flashing and claws out, ready to fight.

This shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be this worried, he's not even really pack, Derek can't have become this attached, but he is and that golden thread is fading faster and faster as they near a clearing just outside the border of his family's property. He wants to howl and rage and rip apart that thing pulling his pack mate away from him and Derek lowers his head and _pushes_ , forcing all four legs to run faster, faster, faster until he trips over something and he has to scramble to right himself, his heart pounding as he registers the faintly beating heart of the body behind him and his ears flattening out against his head as he takes a protective stance between his pack and the wolves in front of them. The largest gives him a haughty, triumphant look before howling loudly into the warm spring air, blood dripping from her muzzle, and then sprinting away. The other wolves snap their teeth at him before following, their growls sounding like laughter as they fade into the trees.

A whimpering grunt brings his attention back to his pack and he turns to see the three young wolves backing away, baring teeth and shaking their heads. Scott crouches low to the ground and paws at the soil with a clawed hand, his distress filling the air in thick, viscous waves. "He's turning, he's changing." The words are slightly slurred and he looks up at Derek with an expression that is all worry and confusion. "But he's not…he smells wrong. Not. Ours."

Peter moves in front of the three when they growl deeply, bodies tensing for a fight and Derek can see that his uncle is fighting against the pull to defend, hurt, kill, protect and he barks once, sharply, to gain their attention. They look at him, frozen, and he snorts as he approaches Stiles, his nose itching with the cloying scent of wrong that Scott had been talking about. Stiles is barely conscious, his eyes losing their focus as his breath hitches with a burbling sound, and he turns his head slowly to look at Derek. A hand comes up and touches his front leg, fingers wrapping around him in a weak grip but he doesn't look away from Stiles, from the pain and resigned understanding in his honey colored eyes.

"Bite. You have to – " A cough makes Stiles break off and his body heaves with the effort. "Bite me, Derek." Derek shakes his head in confusion his nose pressing against the wet gash on the boy's chest as if he can stop the bleeding with just that. "Bite me. I'll be theirs, if you don't."

And Stiles gives Derek a look and he gets it, he _gets_ what the alpha pack was trying to do. The thought of losing his pack to them, of knowing what they would do to Stiles, what they would have him do, fills him with fury. He whines softly and licks at Stiles' neck in apology before sinking teeth into unmarked flesh and holding on even as Stiles screams and tries to push him away with his convulsions.

 

*

 

This is a disaster and Stiles has no idea why Derek thought it would help to gather everyone together to talk. He's sitting at a corner of the dusty living room and Scott is yelling at Derek, who's yelling back and growling at Jackson, who's rolling around the floor with Isaac, snarling at him. Then there's Peter, leaning against some unidentifiable piece of furniture and smirking at them all, sending disturbing and odd leering glances towards Lydia, who is completely ignoring them all and texting someone furiously on her phone from where she's perched on an old crate.

He has half a mind to let them just continue acting like _animals_ but he knows they need to work this out further than Derek's half assed explanations. With more annoyance than he thinks anyone has the right to feel he pulls himself to his feet and yells out, loud enough to be heard, "Enough!"

It's funny seeing them all freeze and turn to look at him, the sudden attention itching at him, but he takes a breath and waves at them all in a gesture that he hopes conveys just how ridiculous they all are. After a moment the others settle down and Lydia puts her phone away, ignoring Peter's stare as she joins them.

"So, I get the whole, 'Grrr, me wolf, attack,' thing, really, I do. But do you guys have to act so completely uncivilized?" They blink at him and he throws his hands up. "So, alpha pack in town. What does this mean exactly and what can we do to protect ourselves? Do we attack, do they? I don't care if Scott hates Derek, or if Lydia is going to end up stringing Peter up by his intestines, I _don't_ and you know it's quite possible that she will Peter, shut up. But, we have to work together and once the alphas are gone, we can all go back to our stupid, boring lives."

Derek growls at him and Stiles rolls his eyes, because seriously? After an awkward moment of silence Isaac speaks up, his voice hesitant at first then picking up strength. "Boyd and Erica are gone, we're all that's left. Plus, if they're here to attack the town, it's down to us or the Argents."

"And we all know how great they are at keeping a low profile." Scott's bitterness surprises Stiles and he smiles ruefully at his friend. "But yeah, Stiles is right, we have to do something."

With that they start talking in earnest, actually hashing out plans and trying to come up with something viable. Later, as he's walking out the door, Derek pulls him aside and murmurs a quick, "You'd make a good alpha," before disappearing into the lengthening shadows of his house.

 

*

 

Derek can't stop watching Stiles as he comes into his own, as he takes his wolf and doesn't just let it live in him but takes it and owns it. Watches in amazement, and quite a lot of desire, as Stiles becomes an amazingly strong werewolf. The only other time he'd seen a non-born werewolf be _this_ was his dad and even then the man had had years of practice.

He shouldn't be as surprised as he is, considering that he'd identified that spark of darkness in Stiles long ago. It had made his wolf perk its ears in recognition, in solidarity, and now as he watches the blood drip down the boy's chin and stain his hands red he can't help the hitch in his breath or the extra thump of his heart.

And he really needs to stop staring because he might just be turning into the creeper that Stiles has always accused him of being.

It's like the spark in Stiles has been lit, let free, and he looks absolutely beautiful covered in blood, his wide smile feral as he takes the first bite and then stares up at them with wide, proud, eyes. Even then, as he's more wolf than boy, Derek still sees that bit that makes him _Stiles_. The Stiles that helped him and refused to cut his arm off and who'd treaded water for hours to keep him afloat, and who had made sure Boyd and Erica felt okay with coming back into the fold, and had stepped back so that Lydia could truly be happy, Derek sees that. He sees that and sees how amazing it is when combined with that dark flame that he knows has always lived in Stiles and is now amplified by being a wolf.

He wants to take Stiles and make him _his_ , mark him up and tear apart anyone who gets in his way. At the same time he wants to stand back and let Stiles _shine_ , let him be this gorgeous creature of pure instinct and who is all together _human_ in a way that Derek will never understand. These conflicting feelings make him want to steal Stiles away and keep him all to himself, keeping him safe and pure, and wholly his. He's never felt that way about _anyone_ and this isn't healthy, it isn't right, Stiles is only seventeen and there is no way he can –.

So he closes his eyes and howls out into the night, the pack hesitating for no more than a few heartbeats before joining in, one by one, as they welcome their new pack mate. It's their first run, but not Stiles' first kill, and for the first time they understand what Stiles is to Derek.

 

*

 

Stiles is curled up on himself, body tense and ready to spring at a moment's notice, his mind still racing and jumping from one thing to the next. It's what he's found hardest out of all the other shit that comes from being a wolf. There's just so much stuff, so much input, too much and it's like he's on overdrive and he hates it. He hates that he was turned against his will, that he's not fully himself anymore.

He still can't believe that he got _bit_ , like something inside his brain hasn't quite accepted it as fact and he keeps _forgetting_ , which is stupid, but he does. He's dealing with all this pack stuff and with saving their collective asses since they're all idiots and forget to plan and be careful before charging in head first. Sometimes he just wants to strangle them all to save himself the trouble.

Watching Lydia with Jackson is the hardest bit, the way they'll sit in a corner or something, murmuring gently to each other in a way that is really just not fair. He's stepped back even when he didn't want to. Stiles had thought about fighting for her, of winning her over and slowly having her fall in love with him. But watching how she lights up around Jackson, how she comes alive when he smiles at her and kisses her softly on the cheek, hand gently holding hers, he knows he has to stay away.

And then there's the hunger.

That dark bit of himself that he's ignored his whole life, the one that had him running to crime scenes with the desire to see dead bodies and blood and gore, it's still there. And it's like it's been fired up and turned on full and he doesn't know what to _do_ and he really needs to stop thinking about how good it would feel to tear into flesh and bone and just watch something bleed. Because that's not what they do, what he does, it _isn't_.

So instead of giving in to his base instincts, he's curled up on the armchair of his living room, knees pulled up and arms wrapped around his legs, hoodie of his jacket pulled down low so he has a limited view of the room. And of his dad, who's staring at him with concern and quite a bit of anger as they wait for the others to come. Ten minutes ago Stiles had walked in after having been gone for the better part of a week and his dad had wrapped him up in a hug so tight he's still not breathing right.

Finally a car pulls up, then another, and then footsteps coming up the drive and the pack is there. He's been a wolf for all of five days and he'd heard them coming from over a mile away, his heart beat slowing down for the first time once he'd singled out Derek and had matched his breaths to his alpha's. The doorbell rings and his dad gives him another look, the kind that says _disappointment_ and _if only_ , before getting up and answering.

Derek comes in first and he nods at Stiles' dad before moving out of the way and letting the others in. Stiles feels his heart picking up speed again because he's doing this, he's telling his dad and things are either going to get better or worse, and he can't believe it took him getting bitten for his dad to finally get the truth out of him. His breathing grows shallow and he feels his face start to shift and everything is suddenly pushing in from all sides, the noises and smells and _everything_ , and where was the calm he'd found just a little while ago?

A soft whine escapes his throat and not ten seconds later Derek is there, picking him up and sitting back down with Stiles in his lap, hands gentle as they soothe him. He whines again, louder this time, and pushes his face into Derek's neck, hands clenching with the need to cling. Another hand joins Derek's and he knows it's Scott, his voice soft as he promises Stiles' dad that everything's okay and they'll explain everything in a bit, just as soon as Stiles can breathe again.

It takes less than five minutes before he's pulled himself together and has his transformation under control. Stiles stays curled in tight against Derek, his heart beating in synch with the alpha's and he glances up at his dad, who's worried and tense and staring at Stiles like he doesn't know him anymore. He wants nothing more than to run back to Derek's where he'd been staying, for the pack to be curled around him, warm and content, as he'd swallowed up the last of the bite.

Instead he takes a deep breath and straightens up, meeting his dad's eyes with a determination that's almost second nature by now, and starts talking.

 

*

 

The oven's just beeped, signaling that his dinner's ready, when the back door opens and Stiles comes into the kitchen, anger and nervousness and something Derek can't quite name pouring off him. He makes sure to turn off the oven before he turns around to lean against the counter, crossing his arms and staring, his eyebrow raised slightly in question.

Stiles just stares at him for a moment before growling and grabbing at his hair, long enough that it brushes the tips of his ears, and glaring. "You think I haven't noticed you staring at me?" His voice has gone slightly shrill, his annoyance coating his tone thickly. "You just stare at me all the time, every fucking chance you get, and you think I don't _notice_? Fucking hell, Derek, come on!"

Derek isn't sure of what he should be saying so he continues to stare, his heart rate picking up slightly and his wolf wanting out.

"I can't believe you! I mean, just, were you just planning on not saying anything?" Stiles growls again, shaking out his arms and stalking up to Derek, his eyes glowing bright, golden orange. "You're an idiot."

They stare at each other for a heartbeat, two, three, and then Stiles pushes up against him, lips pressing in against Derek's, hands and claws digging into his shoulders. All too quickly he pulls away and he grins, canines lengthening as he presses his body in closer to Derek's, their cocks hard in their jeans.

"Stiles, we can't."

Stiles snorts at him and undulates his hips before leaning back in skimming his lips along Derek's jaw, nipping lightly enough to sting but not draw blood. He can't help himself as his hands fall down to Stiles' hips and hold him closer, tighter, a moan escaping unbidden from his mouth. His senses are slowly shutting everything else out and he's so focused on Stiles and his mouth and hands and his _cock_ that he doesn't realize he's being pulled out of the kitchen and out the back door until he's outside, tripping down the stairs.

When he frowns and tries to turn back Stiles laughs, his mouth coated lightly in blood and oh, when did he do that? Derek reaches up and touches the bite at his shoulder, heart skipping faster and faster as he stares at Stiles and swallows.

"You're mine, Derek," Stiles in close again, fingers gentle as he rubs the blood away with one hand and pulls at the collar of his own shirt with the other, neck arching and baring all that unmarked skin to Derek. "Just as much as I'm yours."

For a few indescribable seconds it feels as if the world's tilting on its axis, taking Derek along for the ride, before he realizes that it's true, he already belongs to Stiles in every way imaginable and why not like this too. He meets those shining golden eyes as his own teeth lengthen and Stiles only grunts when Derek bites him for the second time, his laughter full of joy as it rings out in the darkening sky.

When he pulls back they grin at each other and then Stiles is taking off towards the woods, glancing back with a cheeky grin that's all _catch me if you can_ and teasing and everything Derek's ever wanted and never realized he could get.

Hours later they're wrapped around each other at some clearing or another, writhing across the forest floor and coating each other in blood and dirt; the stag Derek had sniffed out and Stiles had brought down cooling just a few feet away. The sky is clear, the moon hidden in darkness, and the stars their only light as Derek pushes into Stiles and freshens the bite on his neck, his wolf thrumming with joy at having his mate finally marked and taken. Stiles is all gasping moans and soft sighs, legs wrapped around Derek and chanting out _Derek_ and _mine_ , and _forever_ into the heated space between them.

 

*

 

Having Chris Argent show up at his house is unsettling, especially with Allison and another hunter in tow. Allison is different, harder, not at all the girl that Stiles had met well over a year ago and it breaks his heart that this is who she is now. But that's not the point, the point is that Chris Argent thought it would be okay to show up at his house, uninvited, while his dad was home alone enjoying a rare day off.

His dad had texted Stiles with the words _Argent at house, come please_ and he'd taken off, the pack at his heels, the doors to Derek's brand new house left open in their haste. It was supposed to be a quiet weekend with nothing gunning for them, helping their alpha settle in and bickering over colors and furniture. Instead they're all piling through the front door of Stiles' house and freezing in uncertainty when they realize the sheriff isn't in the house.

Before Stiles can go into full panic mode, Derek huffs out, "Outside," and leads them through the kitchen and out to the backyard. Stiles' dad is sitting in his hammock, sipping a lemonade and ignoring Chris' barely veiled threats. Allison is the one who alerts her dad to their arrival and they, along with the other hunter, turn slowly to face them. The man's face twists into a proxy of a smile and Stiles thinks that maybe that's what happens when your family is more crazy than sane and half of them are dead because of it.

Without thinking about it, the pack fans out slightly behind Derek and Stiles, Jackson slightly closer than the others, not doing anything more than watching the hunters with well-deserved wariness. Scott makes a soft noise and turns in towards Isaac, Erica stepping in front of him when Allison keeps staring. It's a bit like a standoff and Stiles can't help but think they should have all worn their leather. Not that they all have anything leather-ish to wear, it's the principle of the thing.

Lydia steps up to Derek, her hand trailing lightly across his shoulder, bright purple sparks jumping from him to her as she whispers something in his ear. He nods and steps aside, letting her through so that she's at the front. She tilts her head to the side and sneers, a light breeze picking up and ruffling through her hair. Whenever she lets her magic loose, when she's lucid enough to control it, the air smells of oranges and limes, a sharp citrus smell that lets Stiles know she's working the elements to her favor.

"As lovely as it's been to see you, I suggest you leave." Her voice is soft, melodic as she speaks out and it carries out across the yard.

Derek steps up to her and places his hand on her shoulder, his eyes tinted red, the others shifting closer, eyes glowing as well, even Scott who's still half hidden between Erica and Isaac. "Argent, whatever agreement we had before is no longer valid. My pack isn't harming anyone and this is _our_ land." His words are more true than even the Argents could ever have imagined. In digging into accounts and papers after Peter's death last month, they'd realized that the Hales owned most, if not all of Beacon Hills, and the land around it. "We'll give you until the end of the week."

Chris seems ready to argue and so Stiles smiles and lets his eyes glow brighter, that golden orange that had taken them all by surprise the first time he'd shifted. "No, really, you should go. We are more than capable of taking care of our town and our people." He keeps walking, passing Lydia and stopping only a foot or so from Chris. "Coming here was a very bad idea, Argent." A glance at Allison and he smiles, softly, "It's not too late for you, you know."

The man's eyes are wide and while he isn't exactly afraid, he's weary. There's a nod and then he's motioning for Allison and the hunter to follow. Allison hesitates, clearly not understanding, and opens her mouth to question. Chris grabs her hand and pulls her, his voice low and urgent as he explains.

Stiles' dad laughs under his breath and goes back to drinking lemonade and reading his book. "You kids make a good pack, glad I'm on your side."

 

*

 

Stiles gets bitten and suddenly he's got an overload on top of his _regular_ overload of sensory input. It can be good, sometimes. Like when he can zero in on something so quickly, get that crazy razor like focus that only people with ADD get, where nothing else can get into his perception of the world. This mostly happens when they're on a hunt or are chasing the bad guys or something like that, where his adrenalin and the need to help the pack is fueling him and helping him to keep a clear head.

Then there are the down times; when things are quiet and he's sitting at the kitchen table of Derek's house going over his notes about the freaky monster-whatever-the-fuck-it-is thing that they just defeated and ignoring the work he has to do for his freshmen seminar. He's basically alone. Derek is out canvassing the town and Scott is hanging out with Isaac and Boyd, Jackson and Lydia are on another date, and Erica is off doing whatever the hell it is she does when she's alone, he doesn't know.

He'll just be reading the notes and making sure he has everything they may need if something like that ever turns up again when this noise starts pushing in. It's like the _tick-tick-tick_ of a clock but not and he manages to almost ignore it for a while, but it keeps coming back and he looks up, glances around. Can't find the source of it. But now he knows it's there, it's going to drive him nuts, knows he can't do anything about it, and then there's this other noise. A low grating noise followed by a _click-clack-click-cluck_ or something like that. And he gets up because he has to find it. The source of that noise. The others too, because there are more filtering in, slowly at first then faster and faster.

Next thing he knows there are noises and scents and just this great big overwhelming wave of stuff coming at him from all over and he can't figure out where it's all coming from and fuck he wishes he were normal again because suddenly he just knows. He knows that what he's hearing is outside.

Somewhere far away. Further out than he, as a simple beta, should ever be able to hear. And he's can't take it, the sensory overload and when it gets to be too much he crawls to Derek's bed and curls up as tight as possible under the covers muttering, "Make it stop. Make it stop," to himself over and over and over.

He has no idea how long he spends like that and suddenly Derek is there, curling around him and holding him and murmuring nonsense and he can finally relax because it's gone, gone, and he can breathe again and god, he has never before wished for a panic attack like he's doing now, because _those_ he knows how to handle.

 

*

 

At first it's not noticeable as they become tighter as a pack, closer than ever. But as Stiles quickly and utterly efficiently takes to being a werewolf, the others tend to pull away from him. Because whenever they're out practicing and honing their skills, Stiles puts them all to shame by finding the prey within minutes of Derek stating what it is. And they resent him for it.

Derek can imagine all too well what's going on through their heads, can feel the resentment tugging at them at the fact that this spastic kid who is such a klutz and tends to just stumble around can do what they can't even though they've been at it longer. Then there's the fact that he and Derek are spending so much one-on-one time and they are so damn close now, not even needing to speak most of the time to get their points across, a look or a gesture more than enough.

The other wolves hate that Stiles' stealing time from them, time they would normally be spending with their alpha. They hate that Derek still growls and threatens and belittles them but fucking glows with pride when it comes to Stiles and they just can't understand why. Even after almost a year's worth of runs, of bowing their heads to Stiles and letting him have the first bite, even when he's taken care of them and defended them without thought, they nip at his heels and push him just a tad rougher.

Stiles had told him not to worry about, had told Derek to not even think about intervening because no way is he going to let a bunch of jealous wolves make him feel like he doesn't deserve being with Derek. He had curled into Derek and made him forget why he was so ready to tear at his pack for disrespecting Stiles.

They don't understand that Stiles is _it_ , he's that one thing that all wolves seek out and that Derek never thought he would find because it is so rare. Because Stiles isn't just pack mate, or hell, not even mate.

He's Derek's _soul mate_ and while he and Derek were compatible before, they are absolutely perfect for each other now.

 

*

 

The morning is warm, thick with humidity and they're slow as they trudge back through the forest, arms linked, hands on sun kissed skin and feet bare. When they reach the clearing where John and Melissa are waiting, they break out into a light jog, finally letting go of each other and falling with rabid hunger on the home baked biscuits.

John smiles at them, fond as always, and pets Stiles lightly, fingers gently picking out leaves and twigs from his wavy hair. "You'd think that you hadn't all just devoured a deer the night before."

"Running tires us out." Stiles is speaking with his mouth full of warm biscuit and scrambled eggs so it's muffled and they only understand what he says because they know him so well.

There's a soft laugh and then Melissa is stepping back from her and John's truck, another basket of breakfast sandwiches heavy in her arms. She drops it into Boyd's waiting arms and sits back, leaning into John as they watch the pack eating. When they finish she hands out towels and packets of clothes before they head out to the creek that's about a mile south.

"You know, I don't think I'll ever get over the fact that they're so comfortable with being nude around us. It's just…weird."

"That's because we still see them as kids." John's voice holds his laugh and she rolls her eyes at him as he kisses her on the forehead. "Come on, we need to get the steak grilling before they come back or we'll be eating it raw again."

Melissa grins and wrinkles her nose at him. "It wasn't all that bad, you know."

A howl pierces through the air and they know it's Derek's, deep and bellowing, sending everything around them scattering. A second follows right after, bright and full of energy, and then the rest of the pack chimes in. The baskets are packed back into the truck and they make sure everyone's keys are in place before getting driving off.

 

*

 

He knows that Stiles is speaking to his wolf, to that animal inside that thrums with the need to maim and kill and take, take, _take_ and he really shouldn't allow it, he shouldn't. But, oh god, it's so freeing and wonderful. He loves it when he gives in and the pack goes for a run, when he makes the first kill and they all surround him and understand – this is the only time they understand and even then they almost forget after – that Stiles is the first after Derek to take a bite, he's the only one to reach in and take out the heart.

They share it while the others go to town on the carcass and even Lydia, beautiful human Lydia, is there with that quiet madness that Peter pushed into her, with sparkling bits of magic pushing out when the wolves get a little too wild with her. Jackson growling protectively as she tinkles out a delicate laugh and takes her own share, biting with a gusto that surprises no one.

Derek just looks out at his pack with Stiles next to him, panting and dripping blood, and his wolf, the beast inside, feels a quiet calmness and he knows that his parents would be so fucking proud of him because he's leading his pack as he should and he knows that once Danny and Allison are finally in the fold, their own darkness enhanced by what the pack can give, they'll be complete and so fucking powerful.


End file.
